


It's Never Too Late

by Saoirse_Laochra



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Daryl Dixon & Carol Peletier Friendship, Daryl recovery fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Illiteracy, Language, Past Child Abuse, Torture, Violence, spousal abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 23:00:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9262007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saoirse_Laochra/pseuds/Saoirse_Laochra
Summary: After finding out that Daryl can't read, Carol takes it upon herself to try and teach him. But when boundaries are crossed, disaster strikes, and Carol is left trying to piece the broken hunter back together again.





	1. Neither One Prepared

**Author's Note:**

> So this is another story I'm pulling over from my old FF.net account, rewritten, edited, and all that jazz. Also, FYI, this was written before we found out what actually happened to Daryl's mom. So it's not exactly cannonical.

“Daryl?”

Daryl didn’t look up from the fire, ignoring the gray-haired woman as she sat down next to him, as he continued to carve out more arrows. Just like Merle had taught him. You got a few free minutes, you don’t stop and catch your breath, boy; you just get yourself ready for the next fight.

He chuckled softly, ignoring the curious look Carol threw his way. Sometimes, seemed like his whole damn life was spent gettin’ ready for the next damn fight. Never a moment’s peace; never a second’s respite. And even now, in the middle of fucking nowhere, most the damn population wiped out, and these fucking people still insisted on taking even the quiet from him.

“Y’know… Whole point a bein’ out here’s to get away from you people,” He said casually, finally looking her in the eye.

She was silent for a few seconds, before sighing. “Daryl, I… I just… I want you to know that I… I appreciate everything you did. Trying to find my daughter. I just… I just wanted you to know that.”

Daryl stopped carving for a moment, finally setting the arrow down as he glared. “Didn’t do none a it for you, lady. Did it for Sophia. Ain’t no kid… They ain’t meant to… Wanderin’ out by themselves jus’… It ain’t right,” He finished lamely, picking up the arrow again. “Ain’t no kid should hafta go through that.”

When he looked up, Carol was biting her lip, staring at her hands. “I know,” She said softly after a few minutes of silence. “I should’ve… I wasn’t watching her close enough. I shouldn’t have let her wander off like that, it’s… it’s my fault. And to make it worse… I couldn’t even go looking for her. I’m useless; we both know it. Hell, we all know it. I’m as useless to y’all now as I was being Sophia’s mother.”

Daryl chuckled again, inspecting the arrow, before setting it down, and starting on another. “Trust me, lady: I ain’t excusin’ what ya did out there, but… You ain’t useless. Not to the group. Sure as shit not to Sophia.”

He looked over, and squirmed uncomfortably as he seen the tears streaming down her face. Shit. Crying wasn’t allowed in the Dixon house –and would earn Daryl a beat-down if his daddy caught him –and he had no fuckin’ idea what the right thing to do was. So he just… sat. Silently. Awkwardly.

Finally, Carol broke the silence, swiping the tears away from her face with her sleeve. “I um… I used to think that… By keeping her father away from her that… That I was protecting her, you know? That it was… That it was better to stay, and deal with Ed, than it was for me to leave, and take her daddy away. Or at least… that’s what I told myself.

“But… after seeing Carl… It was obvious that Sophia was… damaged. Even though her father never laid a hand on her, she was still… still scarred. But even then, I just didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t run; not with the walkers everywhere. I couldn’t have taken care of her. So I just… I just stayed, like I always did. And I watched her get more and more frightened. What kidn of mother does that make me, Daryl?”

Daryl sighed, setting the arrow down, and twiddling the knife in his hands as he leaned back against the tree trunk. “My mama, she… She left me an’ Merle. Said she couldn’t take no more of my old man beatin’ on us. She said… Said that since she couldn’t stop it and she…” He swallowed thickly, running a closed fist against his chin as he dug the knife into the ground at his feet. “She said she jus’ couldn’t watch it no more. Said we would be… Wouldn’t be no worse off without her. An’ she couldn’t find anybody who would take her and us. So one mornin’… Was ‘bout, maybe, nine? She jus’ packed her shit, walked out the front door… And that was it. Never saw her again. She jus’ left me and Merle alone with our old man.”

He looked up, his eyes narrowing at the pity he saw in her eyes, and he dug the knife a bit harder into the ground. “I don’t need your damn pity, lady. I survived, a’ight? I… fuck, I don’t want your damn pity. Didn’t tell you that to get no damn sympathy or some shit. Tol’ you so that you knew. Even if what ya did wasn’t the best choice… It was a damn sight better than some you couldda made.”

“I… I don’t pity you, Daryl. I… empathize,” Carol said softly, leaning over, and trying to lay her hand on his knee, stopping when he pulled away sharply.

“Mighty big word,” He snarled. “What the fuck does it mean?”

* * *

 

Carol chuckled quietly as she sat back on her knees. “It means I… I understand. That I sympathize. Not that I’m sympathetic, but that I sympathize,” She emphasized

“The hell’s the damn difference?” He muttered, and she could see the discomfort, the embarrassment written on his face at the lack of understanding, and she suddenly realized just what her laughter had cost him.

“It’s just a fancy way of saying that I… I know what you felt. Maybe… No, definitely not as bad as you, but… I know what it’s like.”

The younger man was silent for a few minutes, clearly wanting to say something, but either unsure or unwilling to express it. Finally, he stood, walking over to his tent, and rummaging around inside. After a few moments, he came back out, two paperback books in his hand.

“Here,” He said gruffly, tossing them at her feet, and crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the tree. “Ain’t much good to me. Might as well give ‘em back to Hershel.”

Carol picked the books up, and frowned as she gathered them to her chest. “What’s wrong with them?” She asked cautiously. Dale had told her he’d picked out a few books for the hunter that he thought he’d get the most enjoyment out of, and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and The Jungle Book had seemed like good choices. But now she wondered if maybe Daryl had taken offense to them.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with ‘em. Or maybe there is, I dunno. I… I can’t read,” He snapped, shifting from foot to foot, chewing on the side of his thumb.

“You… How did you never learn to read?” Carol asked, unable to keep the shock out of her voice.

“ ‘Cause I’m fuckin’ stupid, a’ight? Shit, I… I don’t even know the full alphabet, for Christ’s sake.”

“And your teachers never worked with you?” She asked in amazement. She knew kids fell through the cracks, but that seemed a bit extreme.

Daryl snorted around his thumb, feet still shifting a mile a minute. “I never went to school. Merle… He tried teachin’ me a bit of what our mama had taught him, but… I jus’… I never got it. My ol’ man used to joke and say that… That all I needed was to get my brain a few good knocks. We’d be sittin’ there at the table, an’… He’d hand me the paper, an’ ask me to read him classifieds. He knew I couldn’t. He knew it, an’ I fuckin’ knew it. An’ I’d jus’… I’d jus’ sit there, starin’ at that damn paper, prayin’ that it’d all jus’… jus’ make sense, ‘cause every time I… He’d smash my head off somethin’. The table, the floor… Whatever was closest. Stove, one time. Damn thing was still hot from dinner,” He finished quietly, staring off into the trees, chewing on his lip.

Carol barely managed to keep her tears in, as the hunter dropped down, balancing on the tips of his feet, hanging his head.

"Shit. Dunno why the hell I'm tellin' ya this."

"You ever told anyone before?"

Daryl laughed darkly, twirling the knife in his hands again. “Case you ain’t noticed, it ain’t like I know a whole hell of a lot a people. It was… It was always jus’ my ol’ man, Merle, an’ me. Sure as shit wasn’t gonna go cryin’ to Merle ‘bout it; pop did the same shit to him. Even ‘fore all this shit started, I… I never really knew anyone but pop an’ Merle. We didn’t have no other family or nothin’, and we lived out in the sticks, so we didn’t have any neighbors close by. Only people I really seen was folks at the gas station, or the hunt and tackle shop.”

Carol smiled softly as she stood, and walked over to him, dropping back to her knees next to him. "Would you like to learn to read, Daryl?" She asked quietly, holding the books out towards him.

The man scoffed, swiping at his face with his sleeve. "Didn't you hear me, woman? I said I'm too stupid. So there ain't no point in either of us wastin' our time."

"I don't believe that. You're a lot of things, Daryl Dixon, and 'stupid' isn't one of them. You think somebody 'stupid' could've stayed alive these past few months? Somebody 'stupid' could've fed this group? It wasn't a stupid man who found my daughter's doll, or climbed up a mountain with a hole in his side to get that doll to me. That's not a stupid man."

"A'ight then, if you so smart… If I ain't stupid, then how the hell am I the only thirty year old man who can't read? Hell, kindergarteners can read better than I can," He scoffed.

"Maybe… You just didn't have the right teacher. So… If you don't mind, Daryl… I'd like to teach you how to read."

For the first time that entire night, the man met her eyes, as he slowly reached his hands out towards the books, a glimmer of hope on his face. Just for a split second, and then it was gone, but Carol knew what she had seen.

"I'd uh… I guess if you got the time… I mean, if you wanna try… Probably jus' a waste of time, you know," He said gruffly, as he grabbed the books back from her, and glanced at the cover. "Merle used to have this one, I think. S’bout a kid livin’ in the jungle with a bunch of wolves or some shit, right?”

Carol smiled. "Yeah. You wanna start with that one?"

"Might as well, I guess. I mean, if you think it's gonna do any good. But uh… If it makes you feel better, I guess…"

"It does, Daryl. It does."


	2. Chapter 2

 

Carol had been a bit surprised at just how eager Daryl had been to learn; every night for a week, he’d show up at her tent, fidgeting nervously just outside, chewing on his lip as he waited for her. After she came out –or back, depending on what she was doing –the two would make their way up to his tent, her with a small satchel she’d managed to fill with about two dozen loose sheets of paper she’d found, a few pencils, and a pen.

* * *

 

And he’d thrown himself into the task of learning like a dehydrated man at an oasis, but even the smallest mistake would upset him, usually ending their session, or at least taking an hour break while he cooled off.

"I… I jus' don't _get_ it," Daryl said quietly.

Carol looked up from her sewing. "Don't get what?"

"All of it. Hell,  _any_  of it."

They'd made great progress the previous night. Carol had spent the better part of two hours going over the alphabet with him, and she'd been amazed at the man's quick retention. By the time they had finished, he'd had the alphabet memorized, and could recite it almost flawlessly, along with the sounds they made.

So that night, she'd set him to work on writing the letters. She'd written them all down –lower and upper case, along with short, three letter words for each –on two of the sheets of paper, and told him to copy them. Occasionally, he'd ask her a question, but for the most part, they'd been silent, with him bent over the small cutting board Carol had found for his desk, and her catching up on the clothing repairs.

But now, he was chewing on his lip, forehead furrowed, as he glared at the paper.

She sighed, as she set the shirt she'd been working on down, and moved towards him. "You were doing good, Daryl. So what's confusing you?" She asked softly, setting her hand on his.

He ripped his arm away as if she'd burned him, before pushing himself back a few inches, putting distance between them again. " _All_ of it, woman! None of it makes any damn sense!"

Carol sighed. "Alright, Daryl. I think we just need to take another break for a little bit, alright? Why don't we just call it a night, and we can start again tomorrow?"

"Don't fuckin' baby me!" He snapped, chucking the board, and everything on it onto the ground as he stood angrily. "I ain't a toddler!"

"I didn't say you were. But you've already made a lot of progress, and if you're getting confused, it's best just to stop and relax for a while. No need to get upset."

" _I ain't upset_!"

Carol didn't say anything, just continued staring at him patiently.

"Jesus, woman, don't you ever _say_ anythin'? I  _tol'_  you I was stupid! Tol' you this was a waste a time! Shit, why the  _hell_  I let you talk me into this?!"

She still didn't speak as she began picking up the scattered papers, pushing them together neatly, before setting them back on the board, peering down at them. She sighed as she seen what had confused him.

' _d_ ' ' _b_ '. He'd written them all –ten different times –as all 'b's.

"Daryl, this isn't… I mean, it's an easy mistake to make. There are adults who still make that mistake on occasion. It's not anything to get upset over," She said soothingly.

He glared, his eyes raging hellfire and brimstone, jaw twitching, fists clenching and unclenching as an eternity seemed to pass. Carol knew enough to keep her mouth shut. Even though her father hadn't been like Ed, she'd learned from an early age that sometimes, a person just got so full of anger that they had to take it out on something. Her father had taken out his rage –rage of a loveless, broken marriage, a dead-end job, and no hope of anything better for his children –out on the stack of wood next to the house, spending hours splitting logs into pieces to fit their fireplace. Ed, obviously, had chosen to take his anger out on the people around him.

She knew Daryl wouldn't hit her. He wasn't like Ed. But she didn't know what outlet he needed for his anger, so she sat. And waited.

She  _knew_  he had to take that anger out on something. But she definitely wasn't prepared when he took it out on himself.

It took her a few moments to process what he was doing, and she stared, mouth agape, as he began punching himself in the head.

"Stupid! Stupid, stupid little shit!" He cussed. "Can't learn nothin'!"

"Daryl! Daryl, stop it!" Carol cried, rushing him. In her haste, she began to trip, and overcompensated, sending her crashing into Daryl. Both of them went down in a heap, and suddenly, Daryl's cussing changed.

"Get off me! Get off me, bitch! Get the fuck off me!"

Struggling desperately to untangle herself from him, Carol still tried to brace for the inevitable impact of his fists. Daryl had made his position on touching quite clear, and had reacted badly to even a kindly hand set on his shoulder in the past.

But the expected blows never fell. Instead, she felt him clawing at her, trying to forcefully shove her off of himself. Stupidly, Carol wondered how hard it could be to separate two people, if they both had the same goal in mind, but Daryl's frantic hands only seemed to complicate the process.

Finally, after what felt like eons, she managed to scramble backwards in a horrible facsimile of a crab-walk, scraping her hands bloody on the tree roots and debris underneath her.

But it seemed like Daryl was unaware that she had moved. He laid there, half-curled up in a ball, hands still frantically shoving at unseen forces, his cussing giving way to what sounded like grunts of pain.

"Daryl? Daryl, it's alright," Carol called softly, unwilling to move closer, afraid of making a bad situation worse. "Daryl!  _Daryl_!"

She could only watch in stunned horror, as Daryl began panting heavily, sweat running down his face, as he shook, still lying in the fetal position.

"Carol!"

"What's goin' on?!"

"Over this way!"

"Daryl!"

Rick and Shane's voices pulled her out of her shock. The others couldn't see him;  _not like this_. He'd never live it down, never forgive her or himself for letting the group see him in such a state.

"Rick, stop!" She cried, pulling herself to her feet, and moving out into the darkness, towards the sound of the running group.

It wasn't her night for footing apparently, she thought as she collided with Rick.

"Carol! Where's Daryl?" Shane asked, moving to go past her.

"No!" She reached out, and latched onto his arm desperately. "No, he's… We're… We're fine, I just… I just need Rick," She babbled.

She seen the look the two man passed, and knew she wasn't making sense.

"I… There's no Walkers, I just… Everything's fine, I…" She glanced up at Rick, who was still holding onto her shoulders, eyes pleading with him to understand. After a moment, he nodded.

"Alright, false alarm, folks. Shane, you wanna make sure everyone gets back okay?"

Obviously still confused, but willing to trust their leader, the group did as ordered, with Shane only giving them a backwards glance, as he herded them back towards their own camp.

Rick waited until they were out of earshot, before turning his attention back to her, pulling her towards the now-dying embers of the fire.

"Aw, Jesus. What the hell happened?" He asked quietly, kneeling beside the now-still form of the hunter.

"I… He got upset, and he started… And I tried to stop him, and I tripped… We fell, and… He just sort of…" Carol stopped herself, knowing she was rambling, knowing that Rick's question had been more rhetorical than not. "What's wrong with him?"

Rick sighed as he sat back on his heels, considering the still body before him. "Shock. Maybe some sort of fit. Exhaustion. Hell, all three."

"Is… What do we do, Rick? What… I mean… Should we get Hershel?"

Rick scrubbed his hands over his face, before resting his chin against his fists, and taking a big breath. "No. No, I uh… I don't think that's a good idea. Let's… Let's just get him in his tent for now, and uh… I'll stay up here with him, and we'll just… see how he is in the morning, I guess."

"Is that a good idea?" Carol asked hesitantly. "I mean… If he…" She trailed off, chewing on her fingernails in worry.

"Carol, we both know Daryl won't appreciate anyone knowing about this. Hell, we probably shouldn't even tell him I was here. Now if he ain't better by the morning, then yes, we'll tell Hershel, but… I do think we should just try and see if he pulls himself outta this before then."

"Alright. But I'll stay with him."

"Carol, I don't think that's a –"

"Rick, you said yourself it'd be better if he didn't know you were here. He's gonna know if he finds you here in the morning," Carol interrupted softly.

"Carol… I've seen people come out of shock swinging at everything close to them. How do you think he'll feel if he beats the hell out of you on accident?" Rick asked quietly, still not looking up from Daryl's limp form.

"I don't think he will. He didn't when I fell on him," She said pointedly. "And even if he does… I owe him that much at the very least."

Rick sighed, quiet for a minute, before nodding. "Alright. I'll help you get him into his tent."

* * *

 

Daryl was still; almost lifeless, lying on the thin blanket that made up his bed. At least he'd stopped sweating and moaning, something he'd started again when her and Rick had maneuvered him into the tent.

Carol fidgeted nervously. Years of instinct made her fingers itch to pick up the tent. Fold his clothes. Throw out the papers from assorted granola bars, and other junk food Glen must have gotten for him. Gather his arrows into one neat pile by the door, instead of scattered everywhere.

But she tried shoving it down. She knew Daryl wouldn't appreciate her invading his personal space. His private sanctuary. It was bad enough that she was there; she didn't need to make her presence any more obvious.

But she could take his boots off; make him comfortable at least, she thought with a sad smile, as she moved over to his feet, and began unknotting the dark leather work boots he wore. Her smile turned into a small frown, as she struggled with the caked on mud, and muck. When was the last time he'd taken the damn things off?

Oh Lord, his feet smelled worse than some of the corpses they'd seen, she thought as she gently peeled his socks off. Then, all thoughts left her head, as she gazed in horror at his feet.

It wasn't the dirt. Surprisingly, his feet were actually relatively clean, considering the state of his boots. It was the second and third toes on each foot that were missing at the first joint. It was the left ankle that had clearly been broken, and never set that stuck out at a slight point on the side of his foot.

It was the small, white round scars that seemed to cover more of his feet than they didn't.


	3. Chapter 3

“So… wanna talk about what happened up there?”

Rick sighed, leaning into Lori’s arms as she wrapped them around him from behind. The comforting weight of her grounded him into reality, pulling him from some of his nightmare-worthy memories back in his sheriff days, and back into the disaster he was currently trying to avoid.

“Carol just… she just don’t understand that she’s baitin’ the damn bear up there,” He finally said, a sad chuckle accompanying his words.

He could practically feel his wife’s frown. “I don’t think Daryl would hurt her, Rick. He’s… he’s not like Merle was.”

Rick turned, giving her a small smile as he pulled her close, planting a light kiss on the top of her head. “Lori… I know that Daryl would never hurt her… intentionally. But…” He sighed, trying to think of how to word what he wanted to say, without sounding like a horrible human being. “Daryl’s like… he’s like a damn dog that’s been kicked its whole life. All it wants is some love, and affection, but it’s so damn used to bein’ beat on, that whenever someone gets close, it just… it lashes out, thinkin’ it’s just gonna get beat on some more.”

“Daryl’s not a dog, Rick. He’s a thinking, rational human being. And I think, in his own way, he cares for Carol.”

Rick sighed again, pulling away a bit. “You just… Lemme tell you a little story, alright?

“Back when me an’ Shane first started, we got a call one night; 10-16, domestic disturbance. Neighbors called in, sayin’ there was a woman and a kid screamin’. So Shane and I did our thing, and hauled ass over there. By the time we got there, all we could hear was a guy cussin’ up a storm inside. So we broke the door down, and…”

He paused for a moment, the vividness of the scene still as fresh as it had been fifteen years ago. “It was like somethin’ out of a damn horror movie. The mother, she was just… just lyin’ there in the hallway, facin’ towards the door, like she’d been tryin’ to get help. Her skull was all bashed in, and just… just _covered_ in blood. We knew, both of us, that she was already dead; half her face was gone, and there were pieces of her brain splattered all over the walls. Wasn’t nothin’ we could do for her. So we moved into the livin’ room, where the yellin’ is comin’ from, and we see this guy; big ol’ boy, musta been at least 6’3”, every damn bit of two hundred and fifty pounds. And he was just… just beating the hell outta this _little kid_. So I run over, get him in a headlock, and start cuffin’ him.

“Shane went over, check on the kid, seein’ how bad he is. Next thing I know, I look over, and it’s like somethin’ from the damn Exorcist; the kid’s knocked Shane over on his ass, and is just swingin’ like his life depended on it. Ended up bustin’ Shane’s nose, and cracked a rib ‘fore Shane managed to get him pinned down.

“Now see, thing is, the kid didn’t mean it. He was just… so used to gettin’ the shit beat out of him, that when Shane touched him, he just… he lost it. Never known a kind touch his whole damn life, so when Shane tried to help him, the boy just thought Shane was gonna hurt him some more. There was no _rationalizin’_ or nothin, just a pure, animal instinct. The body protectin’ itself from what it seen as a threat.”

“And… you think that’s what Daryl is going to do to Carol,” Lori stated, the skepticism obvious in her tone. “He’s not an abused little boy, Rick, he’s a _full-grown_ man.”

Rick snorted, unable to help himself, as he laid back on the cot that served as their bed, one arm going behind his head. “You tellin’ me, you never seen him with some strange sorts of bruises, or limpin’ like he was hurtin’ while Merle was around?”

Lori’s eyes grew large for a moment, before she shook her head. “No, that’s… He’s a damn _adult_ , Rick. And you’ve seen him fight; he’d be more than a match for Merle. He wouldn’t let…” Her voice trailed off, unable to continue, still staring at him.

Rick sat up again, grabbing her hand gently. “Lori, you just… you wouldn’t understand. Your folks were some of the nicest people I ever met. But I’m tellin’ you: violence is _all_ that Daryl Dixon knows. It’s the only thing he’s ever had in his life; only thing he got with any sort of regularity.  Why would he keep lettin’ Merle beat on him when he got big enough to fight back? Because it was habit. It was pattern; the only damn thing he knew. Hell, that racist asshole probably started beatin’ on him when he was still a baby. That shit’s been ingrained in him for years. He probably never had somebody touch him who didn’t want to hurt him.”

“So… what, we just leave the two of them up there, let ‘em try and figure it out on their own? That’s the plan?”

Rick sighed, laying back down.

“Yeah. That’s about the size of it.

 

* * *

 

Carol wasn’t entirely sure when she’d dozed off. She dimly remembered seeing the first glimmers of light from the rising sun, but it might have been ( _probably was_ ) a dream.

The first thing she _was_ sure of though, was the blast of chilly morning air that hit her like a slap in the face, followed by a sharp, muttered curse. Some part of her mind recognized that Daryl had woken up, and left the tent, but another part of her drifted back to the mornings when Ed would get up to leave for work.

Those quiet, few hours she had all to herself, before Sophia woke up. The mornings when she’d wrap herself up tight in the quilted comforter her mother had given her years ago as a wedding present. Mornings when she would pretend that she was someone else, somewhere else… that her life was _something else_.

So she burrowed deeper into the blanket – _blanket, where had she gotten a blanket?_  –and shut the world out.

Just for a little while. A few hours where her life was… something else.

 

* * *

 

The sun was just peeking over the top of the trees when Carol finally forced herself to leave the relative comfort of the tent, a fact that comforted her a little bit. At least she hadn't curled up, and wallowed in self-pity too long. Couldn't have been much later than seven, if that.

She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, recognizing the now-familiar smell of forest, sweat, and smoke that filled her nostrils, as she seen the crouched figure, next to the small fire.

"Was wonderin' how long you was gonna sleep."

She kept walking, careful to give him a wide berth, careful to not be obvious that she was giving him his space, before dropping down across from him, her stomach growling loudly at the sight of the shish kebob… _something_ … cooking over the flames.

"That smells so good, I don't even care what it is," She said dryly, trying to stop her brain from identifying the mystery meat.

Daryl grunted, his gaze locked on the flames, slowly twirling his large buck knife with one hand, the other propping his head up.

He looked like hell. She remembered the expression her father used to use when talking about his war buddies, saying they looked like 'warmed over death', and finally understood what he really meant. The large black circles under his eyes gave testament to the hellish night he'd had, his cheeks sunken, and pale, his body language screaming exhaustion, and defeat.

"Quit lookin' at me, woman," He muttered, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"I'm not."

"The fuck you ain't," He spat, anger distorting his features, as he chucked the knife off to his right. "I ain't some goddamned kid, gonna fall apart 'cause of a fuckin' 'boo boo'."

Carol bit her tongue. Knew better than to point out that that was exactly what he'd done the previous night. Knew better than to point out that he couldn't know if she was looking at him or not, since he hadn't look up from the ground since she'd sat down.

That final thought jolted her, and she had a sudden flash of insight.

"Daryl… I'm not hurt," She said softly. "You didn't hurt me."

Frantically –incredulously –his gaze finally met hers, and she could feel the first hints of discomfort at the way he desperately searched her face, relief warring with disbelief. The look on his face just about broke her heart, the hesitation, the self-loathing… the pain.

Finally, he looked away, breaking the awkward moment, only to leave it filled with awkward silence, neither one of the completely broken people knowing what to say or do to fill that silence. The man unwilling to share, the woman unwilling to push, and both unwilling to follow the path that had led to last night's catastrophe.

It wasn't until the hunter made a move to pull the meat from the fire that Carol at last found words.

"Thank you for the blanket."

To her surprise, Daryl chuckled a little. "Smells like wet dog, blood, an' shit. Not sure 'thank you' is the right choice a words."

"No, it doesn't," Carol said a little defensively, curling herself further inside the blanket. "It smells like you."

There was a slight upturn at the corner of his lips, so faint Carol almost missed it as he ducked his head, and said, " S'what I said."


End file.
